


Promises

by Rileywrites_parker



Category: Avengers: Endgame - Fandom, Avengers: Infinity War - Fandom, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Far From Home, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 23:33:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18883549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rileywrites_parker/pseuds/Rileywrites_parker
Summary: What if May hadn’t been dusted in the snap?'On really bad nights, her thoughts took her to that day Tony’s battle worn and travel weary face had suddenly re-appeared on the news. How her whole body had shook and a smile had broken out on her face at the thought that maybe Peter had been with him and would be home.’Told from May Parker's point of view following the events of Avengers: Infinity War and carrying into Endgame.





	Promises

**Author's Note:**

> Or: Grieving for another door remaining unclosed.
> 
> This entire piece is told from May Parker's point of view following the events of Avengers: Infinity War and carrying into Endgame.

Nearly a year had passed since it had happened and she was still seeing that ship disappearing into the clouds on the backs of her eyes. She could remember the way the sun had caught on alien metal, glaring sharply; squinting lids pushing together the same way the chambers of her heart squeezed watching the familiar, singular burning trail following its ascent.

She could remember hoping that Tony would remain safe as her eyes curved along with his form as he climbed.

If she allowed herself to indulge, she could smell ozone, carbon, and something unidentifiable; it was a scent that she would never forget the fire of as it lingered, licking at the finest parts of her lungs.

At the time, she hadn’t known that the most central part of what was left of her world was already on his way out of it. From where she’d been, she hadn’t seen, couldn’t have. She hadn’t known that his sticky, coated fingers had clung to the outer rim of the most sinister parts of what the universe had brought down on humanity; couldn’t have known that he’d climbed into the womb of death.

She had been sure of what her eyes had told her.

_Tony had sworn to keep him from it._

Until she wasn’t.

And he didn’t come home.

When her memories woke her and kept her mind prisoner, she’d think back to the day she’d walked into his room, red and blue of him outlined and glowing as the sun streaming in from the window hugged at his lines, undeterred by the streaks and fingerprints left along the glass, like even the sun knew how bright his soul was.

She found that she wasn’t as surprised as she maybe should have been, and more upset that he had kept it from her for so long. Of course it was her Peter.

The two of them had talked for hours, well into the night. They’d ended up on the carpet, backs stiff and uncomfortable, limbs cradled in itchy fibers but comfortable in the way they could speak freely with one another. He’d told her everything. He’d told her about what had happened on that night where flashing sirens and a harsh knock on the door had crushed her world for the first time; each wrap of gloved knuckles against the wood carrying the final notes of his name.

She was afraid for him.

Ben would have been proud.

She’d made sure he knew.

On really bad nights, her thoughts took her to that day Tony’s battle worn and travel weary face had suddenly re-appeared on the news. How her whole body had shook and a smile had broken out on her face at the thought that maybe Peter had been with him and would be home. At any moment she’d catch his voice singing from under the door, telling her that he’d lost his keys again and to let him in already. That he’d missed her and he was sorry.

Then a knock had come instead, soft and hesitant, knuckles on the other side, tired, the final note sliding down the paint to whisper warnings at her heart in the form of a question gone unanswered.

He’d shown up at her front door, thin and frail. Defeat on his features and remorse in his eyes. She’d known then what he was going to tell her before he confirmed the smoldering feeling she’d had growing in her stomach had been able to ignite and catch at her chest.

It wasn’t the answer she’d wanted.

“I’m sorry, May. I sent him home. I did. I tried, May. But you know how the kid is, with his damned stubborn sense of responsibility.”

“How?”

“We fought so hard. He did so good, May. Pete was so good.” He was leaning against the door frame, worn body seeking out something solid, his eyes gone, somewhere else as he spoke. Watching him, she could almost see the rubble, the dirt, the fire, and the blood trapped amidst the brown of his eyes.

Thinking back, she could see the ash, too.

“How?”  Her lungs hadn’t taken in air since she’d opened the door; waiting for confirmation of what she’d already known but had refused to accept.

“He and I were so close. Almost got the gauntlet away from that bastard - ”

She reached out to him then, cold, clammy fingers coming to rest on the scruffiness of his jaw. Dark, hollows of his eyes finally meeting with hers.

“Tony, please. How did it happen?” She needed to know. Would she be watching another body sinking below the grass?

“Thanos.”

The inferno in her chest raged. Tony’s eyes glazed over, cruel reality dripping from long lashes and down his gaunt face, pooling in the chilled crevices of her now limp fingers.

“He was in my arms,” his voice broke, “and then he just,” the word got caught between the tightening of his throat, scrambling over a dry tongue to stumble out in a whisper, “ _wasn’t._ ”

The embers in her heart turned to ash. Her hand dropped from his face. Leaden, watery legs stumbled backwards, giving out completely as she hit the floor, pain jarring up through her spine that she didn’t have the mental capacity left in her to really register.

He was gone.

She couldn’t bring him back to Ben.

Gone.

No closure.

She was alone.

Happy appeared from behind Tony, his voice empty and echoing as it made its way into her thoughts; words processing slowly as they choked on the fiery debris; the smoke filling her nostrils and burning at her eyes.

“She’s going into shock.”

The only thing she could remember finding the strength for was to mumble, repeating the only thing she had left, the only thing she’d held onto.

“You promised me. You promised.”

* * *

Three years into the choking dust of his absence and she had finally decided it was time to move. The emptiness of her now too big apartment was overwhelming her.

The last room she’d packed up had been his, had put it off for as long as she could until she had to face it. His door had been closed since he’d left on his field trip that morning; another door frame for time and change to pass through, into a world where ashes coated the air and teased at rays of light through windows that once held secrets and revelations.

It was hours before she worked up the courage, finally throwing the door open and herself into the room, shutting it again quickly behind her; like she couldn’t let anything else into this space that had been his.

Cursing at herself when she realized she’d forgotten the boxes just outside.

Laughing when she suddenly felt ridiculous and pathetic as she again threw the door open, leaving it that way in defiance.

She’d taken her time pulling things off of the walls, rolling all of his posters up neatly, taking care not to wrinkle or tear the paper before tucking it away. Careful fingers brushed away at the dust that had gathered on all of the things he’d built, Lego sets, figurines, models, and quirky gadgets.

Fondness pushed lips up at baggy, tired under eyes with each memory his things brought to her.

Thrifting had been their thing. The last Sunday of every month they’d explore local shops together, Peter always coming home with something, assuring her that this one was his best find, a treasure. The smallest things had been enough to excite him. He was always happy with what she found for him, what they found together.

She’d saved his closet for last.

His clothes still carried his scent. She couldn’t keep herself from burying her face into each item as she pulled them from their hangers, her heart breaking further with each stupid pun she read, working her way from left to right, avoiding what she knew was tucked away in the far corner for as long as she could.

He had always been sentimental, extremely so. Hand me downs from Ben were hung carefully, collars neatly folded down, buttons done up, fabric patiently waiting for a time when he was big enough to wear them.

She pulled a stretched, grey sweater out and into her arms, trying to draw something from the weaves of what had been their favorite sweater.

It had been hanging directly over that suitcase.

Worn leather in need of a good conditioning; distress not from neglect but desire. He’d wanted to keep it exactly as it had been.

It was where he kept his secrets; his heart.

She’d known it would break her opening it and it did.

An old camera, its lens cap missing, a pair of rimmed glasses, a pair of earrings and a necklace, a faded silk bow tie, a scratched, red and gold plastic mask, and a set of prototype web shooters.

At the bottom of the case, wrapped in an old shirt, were loose photographs, neatly stacked atop a single framed one. There were plenty of him and Ned, silly poses and funny faces painted across a majority of them. He’d captured moments from decathlon, young and smiling faces peering back at her. Then there were the shots he’d taken of the city, her breath catching at the beauty he’d managed to borrow from his world and place on paper. Then there were the ones of him and her. Of just her; times where she hadn’t been paying attention, but that he’d wanted her to see.

He’d kept as many photos as he could of Ben and his parents. He didn’t want to forget.

She knew he liked to remind himself often.

In the frame, was a picture of him and Tony smiling, the both of them holding up a certificate; the joke of it all obvious in the way both pairs of eyes glinted mischievously at the person who had snapped the photo.

Her heart burned and hot, wet anger began rolling down her cheeks.

She was mad that he was smiling.

She was mad that she couldn’t move past it even knowing better.

He had tried. It wasn’t on him and she knew that.

But he had promised.

And she was alone.

She didn’t have to be though, for a moment she could forget.

With the sweater curled at her chest and the photo at her knees she could easily pretend it had gone a little differently. Through her burning, blurred eyes and steamed glasses, here she could reach out and touch his face; cold and solid through the glass, but there.

Touching, she could pretend she’d spoken to him before he’d disappeared. She could lie to herself.

She’d known that he was going to be on that ship.

She could have said _something_ before he _wasn’t_ any longer.

‘If I never see you again, know that I love you, Peter. You are the best part of my life. I’m so proud of you, sweet boy.’ She’d have told him with as much ferocity as her being would allow; shaky arms wrapped around him, so loved toffee waves pressed against her temple, glasses pushed askew and half hanging from an ear that was too absorbed in listening to the sound of him alive again to care.

Opening her eyes, the breathing was gone, his face was made of paper and her fingers coddled where life wasn’t.

Her world had never been so empty.

She was alone.

He’d promised.

The suitcase closed and found its way into a different closet where it would wait for no one. At least she could keep his heart close.

* * *

It was five years after she’d lost him and suddenly he _was._

Peter had stayed wrapped up in her arms for hours while they’d cried; she for his life and he for the loss, the pain she’d been in, the pain everyone would know. For Tony and Pepper.

For Morgan.

She hadn’t known.

Not as well as she had been so sure of.

The dark featured little girl was unmistakably his. Even at so young an age, you could see his strength in the way she held herself; defiance in the set of her jaw, as she watched her father’s heart float away. She was the only one without tears.

She was so young.

So like he had been.

She’d know that he hadn’t done this just for Peter. He’d wanted to restore happiness, the good, the hope, so that his girl would know nothing of death. Nothing of despair.

He’d intended on coming back.

She couldn’t help but carry the guilt of living with her; it settled into her collar bones, aching at her shoulders, pulling at her neck and weighing at her temples. Especially now, as she watched that familiar, metallic object drift away on a bed made of life, light catching on its surface as it journeyed towards infinity

Then there was Peter, adaptive as always, ready to accept that the world had moved forward, years without him while he’d slept for mere minutes. His knees were bent, stretching the fabric of pants that were now bordering on too small as he crouched down to her level. He held a hand out to her cautiously, eyes gentle and words soft as he spoke, meeting what remained of his mentor; seeing him again, reaching for a balm made out of all of the best parts he’d left behind.

Recognition quickly spread across her features, ignoring his hand as she instead fell into his chest, little arms wrapping around his neck, cuffs of her sleeves catching in his hair. The shock on his face lasted a split second before he closed his eyes, certainty in the form of salt and wetness came to rest on the beds of his lashes, preparing for a gentle decent. His hand caught them before the little girl could know.

Of course Tony had introduced them. Long before he’d ever known that she was.

Of course she knew Peter.

Pepper’s hand came to rest on a shoulder clad in iron guilt, lightness and warmth of her fingers leaching away at some of the load.

She spoke with confidence, as she always did, even now.

“He was so impressed with him, so proud. Maybe even a little jealous of how this kid didn’t seem to need any guidance in doing what was right when he’d struggled so much to find himself at first; although, he’d never admit to that.” There was a fond smile on her lips that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Tony loved Peter. He told Morgan all about him. How good he was. What he’d hoped for him. What he knew that he’d be.”

One of her own hands came to rest atop of Pepper’s and the load grew even lighter.

Morgan had pulled away, sad little smile gracing lips that curved up in the same way her father’s had. Peter smiled back, listening as she talked, standing and taking her hand; his swallowing hers as she pulled at him, short legs moving in a direction away from the shore and towards a canvas sanctuary of her own hidden away in the trees.

Peter looked back over his shoulder, a little of that light coming back into his eyes, honeyed brown color beginning to blossom. His brows rose and the corners of his lips with them.

She decided then, in the same way that Tony had, that his little girl would know only fond memories and good.

“We, Peter and I, will make sure she knows,” she’d turned to Pepper, hands grasping at hers, belated warmth finally returning to them after all of the time passed between those knocks at her door and this moment at the lake, “I promise.”


End file.
